I Scream for Gus
by DwaejiTokki
Summary: In which Gus is bullied, Shawn sticks up for him, and the friends have a heart-to-heart about the meaning of a particular n-word. One-shot. Complete.


I Scream for Gus

 **Summary** : Kid!fic. In which Gus is bullied, Shawn sticks up for him, and the friends have a heart-to-heart about the meaning of a particular n-word. One-shot. Complete.

 **Rating** : T, for offensive language and some violence.

 **Disclaimer** : I don't own _Psych_.

"Hey, Gus," Shawn said excitedly. "You got that ten dollars your mom gave you?"

"Yeah, why?" Gus asked suspiciously, looking up from his homework. One hand held down the sheets of paper to keep them from flying off in the wind.

"There's the ice cream truck!"

Shawn, who had _not_ been doing his homework even though he'd promised his dad he would if they could do it at the park, pointed. His friend turned and saw that the truck was there, the window invitingly open.

Their mouths watered.

Gus fished the money out of his pocket. "Okay," he said. "But make sure you only get one for each of us, and bring me back the change!"

"Duh," Shawn rolled his eyes. He snatched the dollar bill and ran helter-skelter toward the prize.

Gus decided that while he waited, he could answer a few more math questions.

"You got any money for me?" asked a voice.

The preteen glanced up, startled.

An older boy was sneering meanly at him, one foot up on the bench and an elbow resting on his knee. Behind him were two more boys, both looking just as scary.

"Uh…" Gus said. "What?"

"I said," repeated the boy, "you got any money for me? Let me have a dollar."

Gus frowned. "I don't have any more money. And even if I did, I don't know you. I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." With that, he bent his head to his studies.

But the other boys didn't leave.

"That was rude," said one. "Don't you know how to respect your elders?"

"Yeah," agreed another.

Gus looked up again, confused. "Respecting your elders means to respect adults. You guys aren't adults."

"Listen, we're bigger than you, you nigger!"

The young Guster reeled back as though he had been slapped. "You can't say that word!" he cried.

"What? Nigger?" sneered one.

"That's what you are, _nigger_."

Heat rushed under Gus's skin. He took a deep breath, then returned to his homework. His parents had always told him to never give bullies the time of day.

"Hey, we're talking to you!"

"What're you gonna do, nigger? Huh?"

"Huh? What'cha doin', nigger?"

"Leave me alone!" Gus snapped. "I'll tell an adult on you."

"Oooooh," the trio laughed.

"Little nigger's gonna tell on us, oooooh."

Gus snapped his textbook closed and collected his and Shawn's things. He'd meet his friend across the grass, and they'd go find an adult while eating their ice cream.

But when he stood up, the boys converged on him, beginning a new game.

"Where you going, nigger?" asked one, poking the shorter boy.

"Let me pass," Gus said, lifting his chin with dignity. "Martin Luther King, Jr. didn't get assassinated so you could treat me like this."

"Shut up, nigger."

Another pushed him lightly, but Gus didn't retaliate. He scowled.

"Come on, nigger."

"Nigger."

"Nigger."

The pushes became shoves.

Gus crashed to the grass, scattering papers and pencils. He wondered where all the adults were while this was happening!

"What's wrong, nigger? You fall down, nigger?"

"Let me help you up, nigger."

One of the boys grasped Gus's arm and tugged, but a moment later Gus found himself crushed under his weight—but only for a second. The older boys let out alarmed shouts, barely heard under a ferocious roar.

Gus nearly did a double take as he realized what had happened:

Shawn had tackled one of the bullies, and was now pounding him with an ice cream-covered fist. The bully was too stunned to protect himself against the onslaught, his face covered with orange sherbet and blood.

The other two stepped in and pulled Shawn off of him, only to redirect his rage onto them. Unfortunately, Shawn was outnumbered, and received a crippling blow to the stomach. They dropped him and let him curl into a wheezing ball.

"Shit! By nose," cried the downed bully, clutching at the appendage.

"Let's get out of here," suggested one, looking around warily in case any adults saw.

They helped their friend up and took off.

Shawn slowly recovered. "Yeah!" he gasped. "You—You better run! Jerks…"

"Shawn!" Gus cried, hurrying to his aid. "Dude, are you okay? Do you need a hospital?"

"I'm fine," he growled, sitting up slowly and clutching his stomach. "I think they broke my liver."

"That's your spleen."

"Gus, don't be a moveable action figure missing its chopping arm."

They sat in silence for a moment while Shawn caught his breath. Gus glanced back and saw the mess of ice cream in the grass where Shawn had dropped them.

"Thanks, Shawn," Gus said. "But you shouldn't have stooped to their level."

"They deserved it," Shawn said vehemently. "No one messes with my best friend but me. And no one calls you a—a—whatever that word was."

"They called me a nigger."

"Yeah, nigger…What does that mean, exactly?"

"It's a bad word," Gus said.

"What, like dang?"

"No, it's way worse. It's worse than calling someone a meanie or a butthead, Shawn."

"Oh."

Another moment passed.

Shawn spoke again. "My dad's a nigger."

"Shawn."

End.

 _Note_ : I most certainly don't condone racism or bullying. Unfortunately, there are people still like this in the world. I based this snippet on a conversation I had with a small cousin of mine, who asked what "nigga" means, and whether it was worse than some other names. Upon discovering it is indeed a worse word than "meanie" or "butthead," she decided her father could sometimes be a nigger.


End file.
